


without realizing, my heart is fluttering

by xicheng



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 03:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11843466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xicheng/pseuds/xicheng
Summary: hype performance crew is everything that kun has ever wanted, and there he meets a boy who is far beyond his dreams.





	without realizing, my heart is fluttering

**Author's Note:**

> full title: 나도 몰래 내 맘이 설레어 (without realizing, my heart is fluttering) - paradise, nct127
> 
> is kun allergic to peanuts? who knows...

Hype is mesmerizing. Hype is legendary. Hype is everything that Kun has ever wanted. 

Well, Kun's dream isn't to join his university's best performance crew, per say. But Hype _is_ famous for attracting recruiters from all sorts of entertainment agencies. They have alumni who have _debuted_ as _idols_ , like Lee Donghae and Do Kyungsoo. The most recent member they lost to SM Entertainment was their former leader, feisty Kang Seulgi who was more than a triple threat with charm, good looks, wicked dancing, and stable singing. 

Kun's dream isn't to sing and dance for school assemblies and volunteer performances, no. It is to feel the thrill of a _real_ stage, to hear a crowd chanting his name. To become an idol. 

And that's why Kun is _pissed_ that he's going to miss Hype's first open practice of the year. He's going to miss his chance to make a good impression before his official audition, meet all of the members and see them perform, and he's going to lose major points for enthusiasm. He's so fucked. 

It’s all his roommate’s fault — _Lucas_ , a Hong Kong native who’s too pretentious to go by his real name Yukhei, in Kun’s humble opinion. Lucas, who, in a fit of late-night drunken munchies had attempted to make a peanut butter and jam sandwich — using the same knife for both jars. Kun’s face had blown up to twice its size when he’d gone to spread some of the tainted jam on his toast in the morning, and a fearful burst of frantic yelping and Lucas stabbing him with his EpiPen have now left him slightly blotchy and very, very late. 

Goddamn freshman. 

Kun just hopes he isn’t late enough to see Ten perform. Ten Leechaiyapornkul — he’s the one everyone’s got their eyes on for recruitment, rumored to have moved to Seoul from Bangkok due to a rather _generous_ offer from Hype’s current leader, Lee Taeyong. He dances like water, they say, but stares like daggers. Kun has only seen vague outlines of him in videos, but he has an unfettered sort of grace that speaks of power and softness. 

After checking for any particularly angry-looking blotches on his face in a window, Kun sidles into the performing arts studio, feeling the sweat from running across campus chill against his palms. He putters through the silent halls, glancing around in wonder at the portraits of musicians and dancers and performers that line the walls. 

The dance gallery isn’t empty like he expects, and Kun’s heart leaps with hope. 

Peeking around the open door, Kun sees a boy, moving, dancing across the floor. There’s no music. It’s like he sways to a beat in his own head, curling with some unknown melody, eyes closed and brow furrowed. The dancer fills the room in a way that makes Kun’s vision narrow to the lines of his extended arms and the twirl of his hips. 

He throws his arms out passionately and tucks them back in, face contorted as though in pain. The expression is wild, yet artistically controlled to show restraint, remorse. Kun’s heart pounds in his chest, because the emotion is too much for him to bear. He wants to look away, but somehow can’t. 

Kun lets out a low breath when the boy flawlessly executes an inversion _into_ a one-handed cartwheel. He must have been louder than he thought, because the boy — the dancer, the artist — suddenly lands drawn back like a cat, head snapping toward the door in Kun’s direction. His eyes are impossibly wide, and the facade of his performance dissolves into a look of surprise. 

And Kun, he’s tempted to duck and retreat, but awe keeps him locked in place. _Don’t be stupid, dumbass_ he groans to himself, so he straightens from his crouch and takes a cautious step into the dance gallery. 

The boy gets up, too, and brushes dust off of his loose black clothing. He’s tall, long and lithe where Kun is stocky, and he bounds towards Kun with unfettered enthusiasm. 

“You were watching for a while, weren’t you?” the boy says breathlessly, grinning when Kun immediately flushes. And, ah, here’s the performer in him again, he thinks, because the boy tilts his chin up in a way that he definitely knows looks good, makes him look taller and more arrogant. “It’s a preview for our next showcase. Like what you saw?” 

There’s a slur to the lilt of his voice, an awkward fumbling with some of the hard consonants and vowels. It’s an accent that Kun can’t place. 

Then, it hits him — the accent, the dancing. Kun must be talking to Ten Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, Hype Performance Crew’s hand-picked Thai recruit, rising star, and their next idol trainee. He gulps hard and can’t believe his luck. 

“It was amazing,” Kun can’t deny, and it sounds a bit more breathless than he’d have liked. “I could… I could never imagine being able to dance like that. Your lines are… beautiful.”

That makes the dancer laugh, a flush spreading across his cheeks, and he grabs the back of his neck in embarrassment. It’s a surprising change. Up close like this, he looks like a little boy, young and almost goofy, with his hair pinned back from his face and his crooked teeth and his uneven, pointed ear. His laugh is high and loud, and it makes Kun smile, bite his lip to keep from laughing, too. The ice has melted from the other boy’s eyes. 

“Oh please, I’ve been practicing this routine forever,” he says, but he’s still grinning in pleasure. “I can’t hold a candle up to some of the other hyungs in Hype. You were here for open practice though, right? Everyone else has packed up and left, but I’d love to see — ”

“Winwin!”

Both Kun and the dancer whip around at the sharp call of another voice, and Kun sees none other than Hype’s leader, Lee Taeyong, poking his head through the doorway, nonplussed to see Kun in the practice room.

“Winwin-ah, we’re going for barbecue now, are you coming?” 

“Just a sec, hyung!” the boy — _Winwin_ — calls back, and he watches Taeyong leave before flitting to collect his belongings. 

_Winwin?_ Kun thinks.

“Winwin?” he says aloud, head reeling in confusion. Winwin looks up and grins sheepishly before shouldering his bag.

“I thought the stage name was so cool when I joined Hype a year ago,” he explains with a fond eye roll. “But anyway, you’re Qian Kun, right, a second-year transfer from Fujian? The singer-songwriter? We were looking forward to meeting you after seeing your audition form, it’s so good that you came!” He holds out his hand, startling Kun with his intensity. 

“I’m Chinese, too! Oh man, I’m so excited to have someone to speak to, Korean is just so _hard_ sometimes,” he goes on without waiting for an answer. “My name is Dong Sicheng, from Zhejiang. It’s a shame we couldn’t hear you sing, but... how about you come eat with us and we can talk, hm? We look a bit scary all as a group, all matching black and all, but...”

His voice trails off, and for a moment, it's quiet between them, as though he's hyper aware of the bewhildering nature of his too-much-too-fast way of speaking. Still whipped up in the fervor of Sicheng’s rambling, Kun suddenly feels as though Sicheng is about to touch him. From the glassy look in his eyes, as though he’s truly looking at Kun for the first time during this bizarre encounter, and the pretty blush darkening high on his cheeks. The way he bites his lip and the tremble of his hand, still outstretched between them.

But Sicheng pulls back, then, and brings his hand up to the smooth base of his own neck. Bemused, Kun mirrors the motion and feels a rough patch of red, itchy skin peeking from his own collar, left from his stint with the peanut butter in the morning. 

“Just don’t be nervous, okay?” Sicheng finally says earnestly, with a sheepish sort of grin pulling his mouth lopsided. He drops his hand and rocks back and forth on his heels, so shy and charming.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, okay. I’d like that a lot, actually,” Kun replies with hushed enthusiasm. Sicheng’s grin grows, impossibly, wider.

“Sicheng-ah, we’re going to leave without you!” comes a call from the hallway, startling them out of their private moment. They laugh, softly, and look away. In the reflection of the mirrors their bodies curl into each other almost hungrily, like a vine to the light. Sicheng takes Kun by the wrist, then, and Kun feels his pulse thrumming happily from the touch.

“Come on,” Sicheng says, eyes flashing boyishly under the studio lights, and Kun follows the pull of his hand with no hesitation, just exhilaration in his throat, “let me introduce you to everyone.”

**Author's Note:**

> so... i got really soft and sentimental preparing for recruiting for my lion dance troupe. sorry for this small, strange thing, i just needed to post something or i fear i would never write recreationally again.
> 
> also...i accidentally permanently left tumblr to focus more on school but i still love all the friends i made there dearly and would love to connect with you again ♥ i feel too embarrassed to go back now OTL


End file.
